


Death's Intrusion and Harry's Refusal

by RanOutofBatteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter, anyway here you go!, high school sucks dude, i have finals, man I am really cutting close on time right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RanOutofBatteries/pseuds/RanOutofBatteries
Summary: 'Master of Death' isn't all that Harry had hoped to be.(In other words: Harry meets Death and has a growing headache that doesn't really go away. Ever.)





	Death's Intrusion and Harry's Refusal

 

I have math finals in about two hours but guess what I'm doing? Writing a fic 

 

* * *

 

It was a dreary afternoon, as most days were in London. Maneuvering his way across the room while reading his story he took a sip from his coffee mug and avoided the table, managing to sit down without ever once taking his eyes off his page.

It was a rare time that he ever found the energy to do something by himself and so he spent several hours just resting, not needing to worry about work. The aurors could spare some work from his case.

Harry was sitting on the couch with his legs extended and reading a book idly when the temperature dropped by several degrees. The very next moment there was a figure cloaked in a dark veil, the hood pulled up to draw shadows across nothing. There was a feeling of cold traveling up his arm, shooting through his system and causing him to gasp as he let go of his cup. It did not shatter on the floor but hovered there, saved just as it was about to hit the ground.

The figure glanced down. Its hood was gray and ragged at the hem, but strangely the material's color seemed to regain intensity as it turned dark towards the sleeves and around its crooked, skeletal hands. Impassive and silent, its head slowly turned as Harry could feelits unnerving focus.

Bleached white and icy cold, its long bony fingers rose upward like the gliding neck of a graceful swan, elegant and precise in its motion. Death's voice was a ragged, promising hum.

 

**_"Master,"_** the great thing rasped **, _"I now return to thee."_**

Harry apparated.

.........

 

_**"Master?"**_ Death said again.

A brief moment passed. Patiently, as if waiting for its master to return, Death stared at the empty lounge for a minute or two before realizing that he would not be returning anytime soon. If at all. The cloaked figure paused for a moment, unenthused by this turn of events.

**_"This is the tenth time,_** " the being muttered. If it had any feelings, it would be sounding quite chagrined. 

The empty coffee had shattered on the floor with the abrupt movement as Death glided over it soundlessly. With a thoughtful frown and a wave of its undead phalanges, the cup reformed itself out of its broken pieces, every piece interconnecting seamlessly until even its cracks were gone. It was as if time had never passed.

It trailed after its master at an even pace, never ceasing in its hesitation. Death, although patient, only had enough time before it was forced to become harsh.

Harry, however, had other plans.

After apparating across the country (yet again, for the umpteenth time) and waiting impatiently to get to the train station he checked his watch attached to his left wrist, glaring at it as if it were causing all his current life problems. It ticked innocently and without pause, gaining even more ire from its owner as he stared the clock down as if his life depended on it.

He was quite done with this mess. He wanted out. Fortunately for him, the thing could not just appear anywhere without earning the horror of everyone around him, and so he followed trains and crowds as if his life depended on it. Harry did not care how long he had to wait until he returned - Death did not have eyes everywhere. Unless, of course, it did.

He had done this business long ago, the master-of-all-death unholy, when the world nearly ended as the dark lord Voldemort rose to power. There was an interlude where Harry had first remembered the tale of Death and the three brothers and feared, for just a moment, that he would become its Master. He had convinced himself that surely it wasn't true; after all, he had gathered them once upon a time, and behold! Nothing had appeared.

However, after rounding up the remaining wizards in hiding (Death Eaters, he scoffed, he wished they could eat Death), the thing in question finally made its appearance. Harry had been running away ever since. He decided to rid himself of the wand ever since, and then the rock. He checked in at the Ministry of Magic a couple of days later and reported his sudden absence while explaining he had to complete a little 'pet project' of his. 

They accepted his excuse eagerly. Harry was slightly peeved that he didn't have to make up an explanation.

_"Activity has been low recently,"_ Angus chuckled as Harry passed his respective documents toward him. _"I don't blame you for wanting a break. You deserve it the most."_

"Thanks," Harry said tiredly, carefully removing his glasses before running a hand over his face. Even as he did so, his eyes darted about nervously as if waiting for a dark cloak to jump out at him from the sidelines. "It's been a bit hectic."

His eyes glanced around for any sign of the tattered cloak before apparating out, to Angus' confusion.

(He would make up for it later.)

After the Second Wizarding War, Harry had removed himself from the magical community with determination. Some, like Dippet, had urged him to return ("You're a hero, Harry! You saved the wizarding world, they need you out there!") and some, like Hermione, had respected his need for privacy. He had seen too much to be particularly keen on people anymore. He would save that for someone else to deal with.

He wrote the runes into the palm of his hand, tracing over the lines of his skin. His lips pursed, feeling frustration.

He had tried to chuck the wand into a nearby river and hope for the best. However, the next day, it had appeared on his bedside table, handle pointing towards him as if waiting for Harry to pick it up. He had promptly stood, picked up his well-worn jacket, and left the room to scream in his kitchen for several minutes.

The stone hadn't turned out any better. Once he buried it using all the curses and hexes he could think of, leaving it six feet underground inside a velvet pouch, locked and chained with an iron key, he had turned and found it right at his feet, dragging everything along with it in a pile of dirt and overgrown roots.

He walked past it, hoping it would stay behind, but in the end it had magically appeared wherever he looked until he was staring at it on top of his pillow, pristine and unharmed.

"What the  _fuck,"_ he said.

He had no desire to showcase his problems to the press or to Hermione, who would likely blow a fit for even having them. Which he couldn't help, could he? They haunted his nightmares, would not stay without him, and most importantly, were utter nuisances to his everyday life.

Merlin, he just wanted a quiet sleep.

His apartment was dusty from the lack of use over the months he'd been away. He sighed and removed his coat and shoes while placing his things on the hanger, ready to make himself something to eat. 

And then he turned around and saw Death staring patiently at him next to the sofa, hovering above it without touching the ground.

Harry screamed internally.

He was one foot away from turning on his heel and leaving the house for good when he stopped himself, sighed, and sat down opposite the cloaked being with a silver scythe hanging over their heads.

**_"Greetings,"_** Death spoke, and Harry wanted to curl up and die. **_"I am glad you have accepted your fate at this point in time."_**

"Get out of my house," Harry replied. Death did not smile, but its voice portrayed amusement.

_**"Many would kill to be in your position. Some already have."** _

"Well, not me.  _I_  want to be able to drink tea and watch the television without having a thing that looks like a bloody Dementor in my home."

Death raised its hood slightly, but still there was nothing but an inky blackness where its face should be. **_"Well, we cannot have everything, Master."_**

_"Don't-"_ Harry shivered, repulsed.  _Gross. Ew_. "Don't call me that."

**_"Of course, Harry."_ **

Harry's shoulders slumped. Resigned, he trudged over to the other seat and fell onto it like a deflated air balloon, sagging down until his entire body was curled up and off the cold floor. His socks weren't really that helpful in this situation. He was so fucking tired.

"So," the supposed 'Master of Death' said as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and pulling them up so his feet wouldn't wither from the cold. "What are you even doing here?"

**_"Awaiting your orders."_ **

"I have no orders to give you."

Death let out a breath that should not even have been a breath, and its tattered robes hovered and swayed with the movement. **_"Harry, I am Death, Destroyer of worlds, evil incarnate. You must have some sort of regret in your past life that you wish to bring forward. You have the power to do anything."_**

"I want the power to make myself a cup of tea without moving from this spot."

Slowly, the teacup hanging off the drying rack rose face-up, levitating over to the person in question as hot water filled to the brim. A teabag was placed in with a quiet  _plunk,_ the steam rising as its aroma hit Harry's senses pleasantly.

"Oh. Thanks."

**_"Of course, Master."_ **

Harry promptly put down his cup and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, jeez, this is gonna take a while."

* * *

Thank you for reading! This took like eight seconds I am so sorry

I probably won't continue any of these small prompts, but if you'd like longer ones then feel free to ask! I might pick up some of them again. Bye!


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